Directionless
by Masquerading as Quality
Summary: One would be hard-pressed to think of absolutely anything that Hermione Granger and Narcissa Malfoy had in common, but at this moment in history there did exist between them one parallel: each of them felt a peculiar sense of directionlessness, and neither of them had any idea how to handle it. [Post-war, eventual femslash.]


**A/N:** Response to an anonymous query on tumblr. Not sure how long it will be as of yet. I would love feedback, though, if you have it!

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><p>For the first two and a half months following the end of the Second Wizarding War, Hermione Granger barely left her parents' sight. Their confusion both pained her heart and soothed her soul. They had no idea what had nearly befallen them. All they knew was that their only daughter, normally independent—perhaps even a bit of a loner—suddenly desired their company almost constantly. They were befuddled, certainly, but had no complaints.<p>

After all that time, though, Hermione began to miss the wizarding world, and of course, to recall that she had many decisions to make and not very much time in which to make them.

Hermione Granger was not overly familiar with the sensation of being directionless. In her youth, she'd known with absolute certainty that she would follow in her parents' footsteps and become a dentist. When she'd learned of her magical gift, her worldview had widened considerably, and the goal had become the acquisition of as much knowledge as possible. About everything there was to know. For if there was so much to know that Hermione had not previously even considered, well, then, mightn't she be missing a thousand other unfathomable things if she just sat about, not looking for them?

In Hermione's tireless quest for knowledge of this strange new world in which she found herself, she quickly became aware of a great deal of danger and injustice. Her new purpose was clear: she must work to right it.

Somewhere along this (admittedly very muddy, confusing, and difficult) path, Hermione had experienced the unbridled joy of genuine friendship. A fresh modus operandi gradually began to engulf all others in its surprising fire: she must aid her friends in whatever trials they faced, in whatever way she could.

Now, though, Hermione felt as though she had utterly lost her footing. Was her time as part of an infamous trio truly over? Would she be childish to cling to it now that they must surely go their separate ways? Had the shocking and incredibly transient spark of passion she'd felt for Ron broken some unwritten vow, and must everything else now go to ruin? Had her desire to aid Harry in the many and unusually grandiose trials he faced truly dethroned her previous life's pursuits? Could she return to aiding the less fortunate with the same fervour as before? If so, then what of her childhood passion for dentistry? What of the Muggle world into which she'd been born? Did she intend to simply cast it off? Flick it away like some meaningless blemish upon her magical world? On the other hand, could anyone truly live in both worlds?

Unthinking, Hermione pressed a hand lovingly against the doorframe of Flourish and Blotts. She'd left her house intending to take a thoughtful walk away from her parents, and ended up in Diagon Alley more or less by chance. Evidently she'd needed a touch of the wizarding world more than she fully realized.

She could return to Hogwarts, she supposed, to finish her schooling. She would be a bit older than the other seventh years...not only in numbers, but in mind and experience...but there would likely be at least a handful of students her own age who hadn't received suitable schooling last year and wished to finish it out properly. Professor McGonagall would be a familiar and comforting presence, of course...but even with this happy thought came the sinking realization that so, so many familiar faces would be absent.

Harry and Ron wouldn't go back, of course, but perhaps that was just as well. The more she dwelt upon it, the more obvious it seemed: she mustn't cling to the times she once shared with her best friends. They would continue being best friends for as long as they were able; the fact that they were no longer in school together wouldn't change that. Hermione acting like a sad, wistful fool at the ripe old age of eighteen, on the other hand, certainly might.

As her hand lightly caressed the spine of a seventh year Transfiguration textbook, something in her peripheral vision caught her attention. It was a very particular shade of white-blonde hair on a particularly tall person, and these combined traits caused a chill to run down Hermione's spine before she'd even fully conceptualized what she'd seen.

Hermione glanced up quickly and then down again, and though her heart was racing, she dared to feel slightly relieved. The possessor of the white-blonde hair and noticeable tallness was Narcissa Malfoy. Though even a few short months ago, Hermione's blood would have run cold at the mere mention of any of the Malfoy clan, Narcissa had earned considerable credit in Hermione's book. She had lied to Voldemort himself and spared Harry's life in the final battle. Whatever her personal agenda, she was the reason Harry had lived to defeat Voldemort. As such, Harry had seen to it that Narcissa was treated incredibly leniently in the countless trials that followed.

With one last affectionate touch to the spine of the textbook, Hermione made her way quickly towards the door. If Narciss Malfoy was here, it was exceedingly likely that another member of her family accompanied her, and however much Narcissa's status as not-highly-lethal had improved in Hermione's mind, she had not brought any of her associates with her.

"Miss Granger."

Were Hermione a few years younger and jumpier, she might have yelped in surprise. As it stood, she left her hand on the doorknob and turned wide eyes upon Narcissa Malfoy, hoping to find some reasonable explanation for her polite greeting.

Narcissa's expression was grim, and not at all haughty. Usually she wore striking make-up to highlight her ice-blue eyes and flawless ivory complexion, but today it was only a bit of mascara. Her eyebrows were as white as her hair, and this made her in general look much gentler than when she lined them into a perpetual frown.

Hermione realized a moment too late that she'd yet to say anything in response, and then that Narcissa was offering something to her.

"It seems you left your bag," Narcissa told her.

A flood of horror shot through Hermione's veins when she thought of the last Malfoy who had a misplaced bag to such an unsavoury person as herself. But Hermione quickly pushed the thought aside. Voldemort and all his fractured pieces were no more. The war was over.

Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder with awkward slowness, not quite daring to look away. "Thank you...Mrs. Malfoy."

Some emotion Hermione could not place flashed across Narcissa's glassy eyes and she responded with a curt nod. When she spoke again, it was as though she hadn't fully decided to speak before the words had formed. "You'll be returning to Hogwarts, then?"

"I, ah..." Hermione began to fidget with a tendril of her hair, a most uncharacteristic action on her part. "I haven't quite decided."

Narcissa nodded curtly again. "I'm certain a young lady of your...reputation...has many avenues available to her."

Hermione raised her eyebrows before she could stop herself. "Uh. Yes, well. I suppose so."

Neither of them had anything else to say, it seemed clear, and yet, neither of them made any move to go about her business. Hermione, for her part, had no business to attend to at all, particularly none that was any more interesting than why a Malfoy was going to the trouble of being civil to her.

Suddenly, an absurd idea occurred to her: perhaps she and Narcissa Malfoy had something in common just now. Perhaps Narcissa Malfoy also had nothing in particular to do. All of her countless friends and relatives were either dead or in Azkaban. Hers was the only family that had been given such a generous reprieve, and though it had always been clear that Narcissa was fiercely devoted to her son and husband, they had never seemed a particularly touchy or loving family in the traditional sense. It was unlikely that Narcissa had spent the past few months the way Hermione had, for example.

Spurred on by this mad turn of thought, Hermione struggled for something to say. The least offensive thing she could come up with was, "What...brings you to Diagon Alley today?"

Another odd flash in Narcissa's eyes. Hermione was relatively unfamiliar with people whose eyes flashed and whose faces did not mirror those emotions, but it occurred to her, in flashes of half-remembered torture that caused Hermione's hands to shake, that Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa's eldest sister, had possessed the same unsettling quality.

"Merely taking a walk," she said at last. She took a breath, as though she might say something else, hesitated, and Hermione noted that she could almost see Narcissa's decision to speak reflected in her eyes. "Diagon Alley has been a constant in the wizarding world for as long as I can recall. The occasional shop goes out of business, changes ownership..." she glanced away briefly, and this time the emotion in her eyes was clear: sadness. "But on the whole it remains much the same. I find it comforting."

Hermione nodded. "I suppose that's what brought me here, as well," she said, before she'd really decided upon saying anything at all. "It's nice to see that something hasn't changed. Even though it feels like everything has."

Narcissa focused her gaze upon Hermione once more, and Hermione found that there was a lump in her throat. She pursed her lips and her perfectly-shaped white-blonde eyebrows knited into a small, studious frown. She took a breath as though to speak, stopped, and then her expression returned to its neutral haughty dissatisfaction.

"Best of luck with your decision, Miss Granger," she said coldly, then pushed past Hermione and out of the shop.

Hermione stood at the front door of Flourish and Blotts for a full minute, feeling perhaps even more lost and uncertain than she had at the beginning of her journey, and then slowly made her way back to her parents' house.


End file.
